New Year's Eve 2010 Las Vegas
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Follows "A First Christmas in Paris" story--Sara and Gil Grissom return to Vegas for New Year's Eve after spending Christmas in Paris. Sara has to work, so what will happen as she works with Greg? Who else shows up? M rated,not graphic,just careful!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: As always, we do not own a thing, just enjoy writing what we wish to happen with our favorite characters! _

**New Year's Eve 2010 Las Vegas**

**Chapter 1**

_Greg_

Greg was practically dancing at the curb when Sara and Gil Grissom walked out of the terminal into the late afternoon sun of Las Vegas. Today was New Year's Eve and he could think of no better way to spend it than with Sara Sidle—even if she was now married to his former boss.

The green-eyed monster of jealousy had left him long ago as he recognized happiness and contentment in Sara's eyes. And tonight, he would get at least eight hours in her company, and if their luck held, if the stars lined up, if the gods' of the new decade were on their side, they would sit in their shared office and play games until day shift walked in.

"Sara!" He shouted as two familiar people stopped at the curb. Greg smiled as Grissom took Sara's elbow and stepped off the curb.

He shook Grissom's hand; he hugged Sara. "Happy New Year! Home, first," he asked. Greg could talk unceasingly in the company of the couple and he did so until he pulled into their driveway.

"Who else is working tonight?" Sara asked.

Greg gave her an exaggerated wink. "Just you and me! If we need assistance, Catherine's in town—Nick is too, but his sister's family is visiting. Langston is out of town going to a seminar. So officially—us—unless your husband wants to lend a hand."

Grissom grunted a "no way" as he crawled out of the back seat almost sleepwalking as he fumbled for keys.

Inside his vehicle, Greg grinned a bigger smile. Long ago he had realized Sara would never be his, as his girlfriend, but she was his friend and recently returned colleague. They could talk for hours about music, movies, serious things, or silly stuff and never grow tired of the other. The months she had been gone from Vegas had been a deep, dark abyss in his life and her return had brought back the sun.

Tonight, the two would be the only CSIs working, and if his plans worked out, they would be together because everyone knew two were faster than one. They could talk and eat and he would hear about Paris. He knew it was selfish and juvenile to want to be alone with Sara, but he loved her and saw this opportunity as a gift.

He was also smart enough to realize that it was New Year's Eve in Las Vegas, the cases would stack up; they would go their separate ways on half a dozen assignments, work alone for hours, and might pass in the hallway as they left. His thoughts caused a slight frown before he regained his optimism.

_Sara_

"Thanks, Greg," Sara called as he backed into the street. She took keys from Grissom, shouldered her bag, took his, and slipped her hand around her husband's arm. "Let's get you to bed where you can get some real sleep. I'll go get Hank before I head to work."

He leaned against Sara. For years he had been able to work for days with little sleep yet in the past year, he had learned to go to bed and sleep for hours. He had not slept much on the flight. "I'll go get Hank later; sleep with me for a few hours."

"There's no food in the house."

Grissom nuzzled her neck. "I'll get food too. After we sleep—while you work."

Sara opened the door and dropped bags. Little had changed in the condo since the two had purchased it and spent nearly a year decorating it. They had returned from Costa Rica to boxes stacked four high—all his office things—and Sara had worked rearranging their extra room to accommodate his jars of specimens. Her love for the only place she had ever considered a real home was part of the reason she had returned to Vegas.

Her hands pushed Grissom's coat from his shoulders, took his hat and tossed it to the shelf. She turned to find Grissom waiting, arms spread to wrap around her. She saw the exhaustion of the long flight etched across his face and under his eyes. He would be here only three nights before returning and she was working two of those nights.

They walked together to the bedroom. Unlike her husband, Sara left everything in order, cleaned, bed made, clothes put away. She folded back covers and maneuvered him to the bed where he stretched fully clothed.

"Sleep with me," he mumbled as she removed his shoes.

Sara giggled. "Okay, but I'm going to shower first." She sat beside him on the bed. "I'm sorry I have to work." She leaned to kiss him, raking fingers through his hair. They had six hours before shift started. "Sleep," she whispered.

She was not surprised to find Grissom sound asleep when she returned from her shower. The Paris bed was fine but did not compare to the huge bed where he slept now, arms and legs stretched across its surface. She laughed quietly as she thought of his resemblance to the Vitruvian man—partially clothed.

He still wore his belt and pants; his shirt was unbuttoned to his waistband. She rolled his socks off, removed his belt, getting a couple of grunts from him as she struggled with moving the pants from his hips. Sound asleep, he was worse than undressing a drunk, she thought. Satisfied they would both sleep better, she crawled beside him.

As her head settled against his shoulder, she heard a whisper. "Thanks, honey," as lips pressed against her hair.

_A/N: A short one for the new year, 5 or 6 chapters! Enjoy! As always, reviews appreciated! _


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Another chapter as the story continues!_

**New Year's Eve 2010 Las Vegas**

**Chapter 2**

_Nick_

Nick Stokes looked around his house and his usual agreeable temperament turned to one of crankiness and irritation. His house—the place where he lived a peaceful, quiet, and calm life had been turned into something resembling a frat house on a good day. His sister, her husband, and three teenagers had taken over every inch of space—even his bathroom. As he surveyed the mess of cups, plates, clothes, empty chip bags, sweaters, and electronic gadgets, he made a decision.

Officially, he was off tonight to celebrate New Year's Eve with his family, but on second thought, he didn't really appreciate their style of partying. He found paper and pen, wrote a note, and showered, moving towels and girl hair stuff out of his way before he could get into his shower.

Definitely better to go visit them, he thought. Now he was escaping his own home for work. He pulled clean clothes from his closet. Sara was supposed to be back tonight and it was always fun working with her. Lately, more than once she had gotten the silly giggles at a crime scene or in the morgue, and he had been captured by the effervescenceof her mood. As he dressed, he laughed. It was good to laugh with Sara—he wondered if Grissom laughed with her, which caused him to laugh again.

They had laughed so much over the years it had been one of the greatest losses of his life when Sara left. Overworked, burned out, stressed, and depressed for weeks before she actually left the crime lab, Nick did not think she would ever return. He had been unable to help her. Nothing was the same after that—for a long time a dark shadow hung over the lab caused by Sara's absence, Warrick's death, Grissom leaving, and half a dozen other issues that he didn't want to think about on the last day of the decade.

Nick swallowed a glass full of milk and added the container to the stack in his sink. Maybe he would go to work and stay there until his sister decided to leave; only then could he reclaim his house. He gathered his things, left the note and locked the door.

Driving to work, he thought of all the holidays he had spent at the lab. The group had their own way of celebrating and when Ecklie wasn't around, the grave shift had managed to party. He chuckled as he remembered Warrick and Catherine early one morning making merry in the break room. He and Sara had closed the door and left the two doing whatever developed, joining Grissom in his office and keeping a conversation going so the two were not missed.

Nick would never ask but in retrospect, he was fairly certain that Sara Sidle had managed a seduction of Gil Grissom after one celebration. It was the spring before "the box"—he could not admit he had been buried alive, so his mind had worked out a suitable substitute—and the group was celebrating a milestone birthday for Catherine. They had worked for two weeks to arrange time off, swapping and covering for others so the entire team could leave early. Even Grissom was willing to observe this birthday.

Warrick had found a small nightclub willing to hold a table for them and the group of five men and two women arrived in several taxis, because after Sara's incident no one was driving after drinking even one beer. The entertainment was in the middle of their performance but no one was paying attention to what was happening on stage until a very tall black man dressed in a long coat sang in French, a soft, love song, one that quieted the crowd and had everyone looking at the stage.

When the performer lifted his arms at the end of the song, his coat opened and a slender, erect penis emerged like a brown snake. Quickly, he bowed and disappeared from the stage. The crowd went wild—Catherine laughed so hard she put her head against Nick's shoulder, gasping for air as she laughed hysterically and beat the table with her fist. Brass, Warrick, and Greg hooted and snorted with the crowd.

Nick, sitting next to Grissom, heard him say, "I think we'd better go. I didn't know." He was talking to Sara who had blushed before she began to laugh.

"It's wonderful here," she said. "Let's dance."

Before anyone else at the table had stopped laughing, Sara had Grissom's hand and was pulling him away from the table into a space not much larger than the table where twenty couples were swaying to very loud music. Lights were dimmed even more and Nick lost sight of his boss and his friend. At some point in the night, he had danced with Sara, teasing her but she grinned mischievously and refused to comment on dancing in the dark with Grissom.

They stayed until dawn, dancing, drinking and eating little bites of food, and because the men outnumbered the women, Grissom did not dance again, yet, Nick noticed, he kept his eyes on Sara. Later, he would remember this celebration as one that brought a change in Grissom. Warrick had also noticed a change but he had always insisted Sara was Grissom's woman. As work continued and events overtook his memories, Nick forgot about the dancing and the look in Grissom's eyes until much later.

Now, to have Sara back—he chuckled again—to have Sara Grissom back even if it was temporary, made work fun again. They laughed, told jokes, pulled a few pranks, complained about Hodges, and enjoyed each other. He would spend this last day of the decade with one person he loved as a sister—maybe more than a sister with three teenagers.

_Catherine _

New Year's Eve had arrived; Catherine had arranged to have the night off and now her daughter and mother had other plans, leaving Catherine at home with a dog and a cat because the man she was involved with was not available tonight. She flipped through the movies left on the kitchen counter and found nothing of interest.

"Should I wear the black or red?" Her mother called to her from somewhere in the house.

Catherine responded with "Red—it's a celebration!"

Lindsay had left hours ago with her friends, promising to call her mother at midnight.

Her mother entered the kitchen, wearing red with sequins. "Why don't you come with us, Cath? We will have fun—you know everyone. I hate for you to be alone!"

Instinctively Catherine checked her mother, fastened a backside button, before saying, "I don't think so—you look beautiful. I think I might go in to work."

Lily frowned. "Oh, Catherine, you work all the time. Have fun tonight—isn't there someone you can call? You've worked so long you have no friends."

This was a long-running argument of her mother and one Catherine had no intention of confirming tonight. "Mom, go to your party. I'm going to work—there's always paperwork and I'm sure Greg and Sara will need another person tonight."

Her mother continued to fret until Catherine almost shoved her out the door. For an hour, Catherine wandered around her house, fed the little dog that belonged to her mother, and checked her phone for missed messages before dressing for work. She knew paperwork could keep her busy for an entire shift, but New Year's Eve in Las Vegas usually meant plenty of field work.

If truth were known, Catherine wanted to hear about Paris and Gil from Sara. She missed Gil Grissom more than words could describe yet when Sara returned to work, a kind of miasma had lifted from the lab. People smiled more, Greg had returned to cracking jokes, and Nick laughed again. Even Ray seemed to take on a new persona around Sara. And Catherine knew work would be completed.

As she dressed, she could not help but smile. Who would have predicted that the tall, skinny girl from San Francisco who showed up at the lab, summoned by Grissom, would have stayed, would have married their supervisor, taking him away—or getting him to leave—to another country and a new career. She had always thought she and Grissom would stay at the Las Vegas Crime Lab until both retired.

For years, she and Sara had a careful, respectful working relationship with few clashes—Catherine still regretted one blow-up over two bodies and an abusive husband. Until one day, nothing that could be pinpointed in her memories, she realized Sara was a good friend and a loyal, reliable co-worker who was dedicated to solving crimes. Catherine did not live in the past, guilt or remorse was not part of her present or future. She did have sorrows—she missed Warrick Brown every day and she wished she had recognized Sara's emotional condition after her kidnapping. Both events had made her realize Gil Grissom was leaving before he did. She also knew she could not change the past.

Catherine fluffed her hair. This job was aging her, she thought. She applied lipstick; a certain man would be working tonight and they might get to spend a little time together if things were not too busy. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Sara had picked up on that developing relationship quickly. It would be fun to spend time with Sara and Greg tonight. Maybe, just maybe, everyone in Vegas would party without deadly consequences tonight.

_A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews, a few words, always appreciated! _


	3. Chapter 3

**New Year's Eve 2010 Las Vegas**

**Chapter 3**

_Jim_

Jim Brass had long ago decided his life was work. And since the sheriff and county commissioners had decreed every badge toting two-legged individual in the county would be on duty for New Year's Eve, he was perfectly happy to stuff his brown bag into the bottom drawer of his desk and know how he would celebrate the dawn of a new decade.

He left the drawer open and propped his feet up. No need to get started any earlier than necessary because without doubt the bodies would pile up before morning. He checked the roster, noting Greg Sanders and Sara Sidle were down for the crime lab. As the only two CSI's on the roster, Brass guessed they didn't have the same mandate as the officers and deputies.

Brass knew Sara had been to Paris to see Grissom so he wanted to hear about her trip—maybe tonight would be blissfully quiet and the jumpers and drinkers and burglars and con men, and women, would party until the sun came up then go to sleep. He chuckled as he knew that wasn't likely to happen. He raked a hand across the stack of notes on his desk. Nothing new, no message from his daughter; for the third year he had heard nothing from her, only hearing from a colleague that she continued to work the streets.

He wouldn't go into self-pity and sentimental maudlinness today. A new year always caused him to reflect, but he would ponder the good things and events in his life, not those that caused so much pain. With those thoughts, he smiled as he thought about Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle. He had loved Sara from the first few weeks after she arrived in Las Vegas; she was bright, funny, with a fiery temper and an unflinching devotion to her work. He had watched as she advocated for the victims, her incentive and motivation coming from some supernatural purpose that made her a driving force on any case she worked. She was almost always right—something that many in the lab, including Catherine and Gil, had difficulty coping with—when she analyzed evidence.

Years would pass before he learned of Sara's background, of her father's death and her mother's role in it, of the years spent in foster care. During the discussion of a case that crossed state lines, and quite by accident, an old friend from San Francisco mentioned his first encounter with Sara as a child—an event the guy had not forgotten because he was a rookie and puked his guts out at the scene. He always remembered the big brown eyes of the girl standing in the middle of a room sprayed with blood. He said, "She didn't cry; she wasn't hysterical. She stood there taking it all in with those big, sad eyes." Brass had kept this secret from everyone else but he had his answer to her enraged anger with certain crimes.

Brass was certain he was the first to realize the secret relationship between Sara and Gil—not secret, but hidden, he corrected his thoughts. Everyone in the lab knew the two had a unique and unusual bond from the first words Gil had spoken about Sara Sidle as someone he trusted. Brass knew when one was angry with the other; he learned to recognize when they were working in harmony, and one day, he could not pin down the exact occasion, just a normal work day, he knew they were a couple—having sex and spending lots of time with each other.

With a little detecting—after all that's what he did best—he figured out Sara was no longer living in her small apartment but spending most of her free time at Grissom's place. Within months, the two had moved to a new condo and Sara was decorating it. He chuckled at remembering the state of affairs as the two worked every night together, carefully going and coming at separate times in different vehicles. Sara changed so gradually that the knuckleheads working with her never noticed the beauty in their midst. She glowed with happiness; she smiled all the time. When Gil walked into a room where she was, she radiated love—and no one seemed to notice.

As for Gil Grissom, the confirmed bug-man, lonely workaholic, supervisor of the lab who rarely showed any emotion, he was transformed. Again, no one noticed the subtle, delicate changes as he took more days off, he left at the end of shift, he lost weight and looked younger. Once or twice, Brass had watched his friend's face literally light up when Sara walked into the room. A few times, he had seen Gil's face soften into what Brass knew was love and he realized his friend was totally and hopelessly in love with the young woman he supervised.

Brass leaned over the open drawer and checked its contents. One bottle was nearly empty and he wasn't officially on the clock, so he drained the bottle's contents into his coffee cup. He did it to prevent his thoughts from continuing into a dark time for the lab—Sara's kidnapping and subsequent leaving, Warrick's death, Grissom's retirement. He sipped from his cup and smiled. Tonight, with Sara and Greg, the New Year would be welcomed in the right way, even if they had to peel some poor fool from a sidewalk or scrape brains from sheetrock.

He lifted his cup, one swallow remaining, "Happy New Year, 2010."

_Gil_

When Gil Grissom woke, it was so quiet he could hear the soft rise and fall of Sara's chest as she slept; he felt the whisper breaths against his neck that gave him reassuring comfort of how well she was. He did not move for some time—enjoying the feel of having his wife curled around and against his body. And his libido certainly responded to being intimately intertwined with this particular person. It was in times like this he found it increasingly difficult to live separately, even for a few weeks.

He managed to remain very still. They were opposites in bed. He spread out and rumpled covers taking over three-fourths of the bed while Sara would sleep in one place, usually against his shoulder, and could leave a bed so unwrinkled it appeared unused. When they moved in sleep, it was in tandem and she rarely lost contact with him. It had taken months to get her to actually sleep with him—that is to stay in bed after sex. She would make some excuse for leaving the bed and he would find her later reading or sleeping on the sofa.

He did not ask questions in the beginning—she was so young and intelligent and he was older and well past time when a man looked for a long-term commitment. His experience had been most women seldom found his company desirable over time. Yet Sara was different. Even when she was in San Francisco, he felt an unusual affection for her, and bringing her to Vegas deepened their attraction.

For years he tried to distance himself, draw a line between them as supervisor and subordinate. Again, Sara was different—or obstinate; she ignored his protests, his rudeness, his arrogance, and his dismissal. He rebuffed her and she returned. She was there when he needed someone. When he desired company, she arrived. If he wanted to be alone, she was quiet; when he wanted to talk out a problem, she listened. She was the first to notice his hearing loss but she never asked—just as he never asked about her lack of sleep or restless dreams. Not until much later did either dare to ask questions of the other and even then, they often did not ask the right questions. He remembered too well what that led to—an edge of an abyss that both had struggled to overcome.

He shifted slightly, raking his free hand through his hair. Sara stirred.

"Is it time to get up?" She asked, a sleepy, huskiness in her voice.

Grissom kissed her forehead. "No, you've got a couple of hours." He knew what he wanted to do, and it did not involve getting out of bed, but if she needed sleep, she would get sleep. He grinned as her hand moved.

Sara hummed as her hand worked along the waistband of his boxers. Long, warm fingers slipped along his erection to his groin and back to the waistband. She rolled her body to cover his, hips against hips, bending her elbow to support herself so her face was above his. Without saying another word, she began to kiss him, his chin, tracing his jaw, kissing each closed eye and his nose before she met his lips. At the same time, she was rhythmically moving her hips against him, knowing she was driving him to the edge of an explosion. When her fingers encircled him, it was all he could do to contain himself.

For a few minutes, he savored the hot pleasure of being touch and caressed intimately by Sara, but he was forced to trap her exploring hands.

"If you continue, this will end entirely too soon," he whispered. He heard a throaty giggle as her head moved to his chest. He pulled her up and pushed her gently onto her back, bent over and slid his palm across her abdomen and underneath her soft sleeping pants. He did not stop until he felt the triangle of hair between her legs.

He rearranged himself, leaning down and kissing her belly, pulling her pants and flinging them across the room. He felt her fingers brush across the back of his neck as he gently separated her legs and touched his tongue to the inside of her thigh. Her fingers tightened in his hair.

"Gil."

Reaching up with one hand, he took her hand and moved both to her lips. She kissed his fingers and he settled between her legs, inhaling the exquisitely feminine scent of Sara. She smelled of the sea and citrus with a hint of lavender and he knew he would take this fragrance with him for the rest of his life. His tongue flicked several times against her pink folds before his fingers separated the soft cleft to reveal the small, sensitive bud of pleasure. His tongue and his thumb worked in concert as her hips shifted, lifting against him.

His own body responded to hers and he pulsated, his erection throbbed against her body. He kissed her, simultaneously sliding a finger into her, gently probing as she clenched around him and gasped. He grinned. He heard a muffled whisper of his name. He could hear her quick breaths and knew the waves of her climax were building.

In seconds, he withdrew his fingers, and propelled upwards, following his outstretched arm to her lips. His body responded to her wetness of its own accord and by the time their lips touched, the rigid, heavy organ of his desire had found its home, slipping or drawn inside her as a storm burst. He managed to clamp hands around her hips and thrust himself deep inside her as he heard a choked cry as waves of pleasure rippled and swelled through her and surged from him.

Some time later, he offered a bath.

Sara sighed. "I don't have time for a bath—maybe after shift. A quick shower will do." She raised her head and kissed him, a long, lingering, open-mouth kiss. "You could come in—I hate for you to spend the night alone."

He chuckled. "I never feel lonely—not once since that day in Costa Rica."

She had taken his hand and fingered his ring. Quietly, she said, "You found me, Gil. I had been lost for so long—so confused about life."

He brought her hand to his lips. "Never again, honey—for either of us." He pulled her into a kiss.

As she showered, he cooked pancakes and warmed maple syrup for her to eat. He would surprise her by showing up at midnight—he still had contacts who would tell him where she was working. He wanted to be with his wife for the official beginning of this new decade.

_A/N: Leave a review! Please! Another chapter up soon!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Chapter is posted earlier tonight--review, please, if you are reading! We love the comments!_

**New Year's Eve 2010 Las Vegas**

**Chapter 4**

_Sara_

Waking next to a warm body and two sparkling blue eyes watching her was enough to create desire that burned to her spine. She buried her hands into Grissom's hair, loving how the curls wrapped around her fingers, how his lips and fingers knew what to do to her body. She had a long, sweet orgasm like a whisper that ran from her toes to the top of her head, and felt that her bones, her skin, her hair, the blood inside her body had turned into a smooth golden fluid winding around every cell of his body.

It wasn't the sex she loved so much, Sara thought, as she stood underneath the cascading shower—that was part of her love for her husband. The rest of love was wrapped up in the person of Gil Grissom. She smiled as she thought of him in the kitchen stirring up pancakes, adding a touch of cinnamon, and toasting nuts and warming syrup—for her. There were few times in her life when someone did something just for her—another reason she loved him.

She could recall with crystal clarity the very first meal they had eaten together all those years ago in San Francisco. They had gone to an Italian restaurant, a random place they found when hunger drove them off the streets. Sara had never eaten Italian food in such a place and Grissom had laughed and joked and ordered food and wine, knowing how to pronounce the tongue-tangling names. The wine came in a basket, the light came from candles stuck into the neck of bottles, and the food was crusty veal covered in cheese and tomato sauce. Grissom had known the name of the music playing through the speakers—an opera, he said.

Sara had fallen in love that night and had never waivered from her desire for him to love her. He was the smartest person she had ever known. He talked of books he read, of research he did, of his work in Las Vegas. If she had said anything of substance, she could not remember it, but she remembered what Gil Grissom said. And it continued when he returned to his work—he called, he suggested books and movies, he sent her research articles, he asked her thoughts and opinions on dozens of subjects. Even long distance, they both knew they had found a kindred spirit, and when he asked her to come to Las Vegas, she did not even have to think about it.

Of course, the transfer to Las Vegas and the months that followed did not go as she had hoped; her love never changed, but her plans did. Many times she had tried to imagine what their lives would be if Grissom had not been made supervisor which resulted in his attempts to resist and reject her efforts for a personal relationship for years. She laughed as she remembered his stubbornness and obstinacy. In the end, or as time passed, he was not equal to her determination.

She toweled her hair and used the hair dryer before pulling it back in a ponytail. She was still smiling as she dressed, remembering her bold actions. Early one morning, celebrating Catherine's birthday, she had not given him the option of saying "no" as she dragged him onto a tiny dance floor. There, in the dark, crowded space, with her arms around his neck, Sara told him she loved him—three simple words, except nothing was simple between them—not then, and not for a very long time afterwards.

His response had been unexpected. He said, "I love you, Sara. I have for years." And they kept dancing—or swaying—to music neither had ever heard before that day. They were pressed together by the other couples and she could feel the warmth of his body through the thin cloth of her shirt. Unexpectedly laughing, she kissed him, a short kiss at first, but when he grinned, she pulled his face to hers, ran her tongue over his lips, starting at one corner of his mouth, ran over his upper lip and then back across the lower lip. Smiling, she had given his lip a little nip with her teeth and kissed him fully, opening her mouth just enough to make a quiet sucking sound as she released his lips.

Sara had teased him much later. He did not dance again yet insisted on buying everyone too much to drink. He had also gotten into the taxi with her as they all left the nightclub, and that's how she discovered he was not drunk—had not been drinking at all based on the conversation they had sitting on the steps of her apartment.

She was completed dressed now, but continued to stand in the bathroom, reminiscing on the last day of the year. They had sat on the steps of her apartment waiting for the sun to come up; Grissom had held her hand in his as he had done on another occasion. His eyes seemed to focus on the orange line at the horizon.

"You are too young for me, Sara. You have a long life to life—your intelligence puts you in the category of geniuses. Your devotion to your work will take you beyond Vegas—to great things if you wish. You are a very special person. I've made my life here—a rather dull, uneventful life. I'm on earth and you are headed to the moon." He had laughed, a deep, hoarse chuckle, rarely heard. "What in my world could I possibly offer you?"

She had been able to click off several things beginning with an unwavering love as she tried to deny being a genius; she said, "I'm nothing special. I'm just a woman in love with a man who happens to be her supervisor, who happens to be a bit older." She managed a smile.

He looked at her, saying, "I believe you are unbelievable special," and raising her hand to his lips he kissed her. "Sara, tonight, this morning, dancing with you, watching you, I realized how happy life can and should be." He laughed. "I felt like I had been drinking cheap beer all my life and someone just handed me a glass of twenty year old Macallan."

Sara had leaned against his shoulder, sighing, and waiting several minutes to compose her thoughts. "Gil, we can do nothing and continue to live—going to work, wishing that things were different. At the end of each day, it would be very sad to know we didn't try—that we grow old separately never knowing what we missed."

She had felt him kiss her forehead as a breath of air warmed her skin. "Sara, how can we make this work? I don't know what to do."

She remembered having to force a light laugh. "We are reasonably smart people, so we can figure out something." And with that, he laughed, pulling her into his arms as they sat on the steps and the orange line on the horizon became a golden ball of fire. After several minutes, he kissed her as a man kisses the woman he loves.

"Sweet Sara," he said, finally standing and taking her hand in his. "I don't have a clue as to what to do next, so I'll leave that to you. I know I'm happy—I want you to be."

As an answer, she had unlocked her door and they cooked pancakes together for the first time. She grinned at her reflection in the mirror. It had taken awhile, but she was happy—happier than she had ever been.

The two lovers ate pancakes from the same plate sitting next to each other as Sara wrote out a list of foods to buy—everything from dog food to yogurt and veggie burgers. Sara would eat what was available so filling the cabinets was important. In an after sex glow, or because they were truly happy, their hands touched more often than necessary; he kept putting bites of pancake into her mouth and kissing the sweet syrup from her lips.

"I'll never get to work if you keep doing this!"

Grissom grinned. "You've worn me out—I'll have to rest until you get home."

He dropped her at the lab, promising to call her at midnight, to buy groceries, and to pick up Hank. They saw Greg waiting for her while pretending to talk to a deputy who was leaving.

Grissom's last words were, "Don't let Greg kiss you before I do in 2010—and be safe."

_A/N: One of us loves to write Sara's POV--can you tell? Remember--review! Thanks..._


	5. Chapter 5

**New Year's Eve 2010 Las Vegas**

**Chapter 5**

_Working New Year's Eve_

For some reason the lab was a very popular spot on New Year's Eve—more policemen than Sara or Greg could ever remember strolled through the building in the first hour of grave shift. Then Nick walked into the shared office followed by Catherine who was waving a handful of forms.

"What are you two doing here?" Greg asked, not even bothering to move his feet out of the extra chair.

Nick grinned. "Happy New Year to you, too." He turned to Sara, arms wide in greeting. "Sara! How was Paris? How was Grissom? How long have you been home? Can I stay with you until my sister decides to leave?"

Before Sara could stand or say a word, Catherine was in the office and plopping paperwork on each desk, laughing as she did so. "Okay—nothing is happening—well, yes, three hundred thousand people are on the Strip waiting for a seven minute fireworks show, but so far, no bodies, no real crimes for us. It seems death and criminals are taking a holiday—except for the corpse brought in by day nothing is going on. We need to check that one out—everyone is talking about it! So everyone gets to work on backlog!" She paused in front of Sara. "And before we start, you've got to tell about Paris—and Gil—how is he? I hope you asked for jewelry!"

By the time Catherine paused for breath, Sara was giggling, Greg was snickering, and Nick was trying to suppress his chuckles.

"What's so funny?" Catherine demanded. Nick and Greg shook their head, shoulders raised as both broke into laughter.

Greg was the first to speak. "I thought you were off tonight—you too," he looked at Nick. Sara continued to laugh at Catherine's rambling rant.

Nick replied, "My sister and her kids have wrecked my house. I did not want to be on the Strip so I came to work." He sat at his desk, rearranged a few things, leaned back and put his feet on the desk top.

Catherine walked to the chair where Greg's feet were, gave his shoe a swipe with her hand before he moved his feet so she could sit. "I was left alone, and having no one to celebrate with," she glanced at Sara, "I came in—better here than watching Dick Clark or whoever it is this year." When she finished, she looked at Sara. Nick and Greg followed.

Sara smiled, softly saying, "Paris was wonderful—Gil is fine and he's home for a couple of days."

There was a clamor of questions from all three until she held up both hands for quiet. "He's picking up Hank and buying groceries. Maybe we can meet for breakfast—or lunch or the next time we eat." She knew better than to make definite plans for a meal.

A head appeared in the doorway and everyone turned to see Jim Brass, chewing gum and smiling. "How is it that everyone ends up in Grissom's old office? Hey, Sara—how's the old guy? You're looking good, as always." He came into the room and found a space on Greg's desk to sit. "It's quiet out there—well, as quiet as Vegas gets. Have you seen the body in the morgue? Seems to be some homeless guy living in his car—been dead several days."

"Soup?" Greg and Sara said at the same time.

Brass shook his head. "Not yet. Come on," he waved a hand and headed out the door. The four others followed meeting and greeting familiar faces as they headed to the morgue.

They smelled the body before they saw it and even the assistant coroner for days could not prepare them for what lay on the table. Catherine's hand went to her face; Nick and Greg walked nearer breathing through their mouths. Sara grimaced and held her breath.

The body was twice its usual size, swelled so much the mottled skin appeared to be covered in slick plastic.

"He won't fit in a drawer," the young assistant said. "I've got ice coming to pack the body until tomorrow."

"How did you get him here?" Greg asked.

Nick and Greg walked around the table. Nick said, "It's been a while since we've seen one like this."

Two deputies opened the door and, later, no one could decide if vibration from the opening of doors, no one had noticed if the table was bumped or someone's equipment had hit the swollen corpse, but in a blink of the eye, the dead man went from a bloated balloon to an exploding gelatinous mass of liquid erupting and cascading on every surface in the room covering three of the men as only the term "slimed" could describe. The two women's voices were drowned by the yelling and hooting exclamations of the men as everyone ducked for non-existing cover—too late.

The stench was horrendous—and everyone gagged, stumbling for the hallway to escape, trying to avoid Nick, Greg, and the assistant coroner. The smell and much of the body escaped with them, clinging to clothes, as they coughed between laughs.

Someone asked "What happened?" which brought more laughs. Brass was complaining about ruining his best suit. Nick and Alan, the assistant, with dripping hands were attempting to wipe droplets of human soup from faces using their wet shirts. Greg had received the brunt of the eruption and appeared speechless as he tried to wipe thick liquid and bits and pieces of tissue from his clothes. The deputies, Brass, and the two women had been protected somewhat by distance and the three others, but trails of dark brown fluid blotched their clothing and hair.

Catherine was quick with her phone calling someone requesting blue jumpsuits and towels to be brought to the morgue. "Just leave them at the door!" She turned to the others. "We can control this by showering down here—I know there's some magic deodorizer Doc Robbins uses. Greg—you and Nick help Alan with the clean-up and in this case…" She stopped when she saw Sara's face. "Nick—trash can!"

Nick had the flip top off the container in seconds as Sara followed Catherine's command and turned with hand clamped over her mouth. Everyone watched as Sara vomited bringing up every bite of pancakes and every swallow of coffee and orange juice she had eaten earlier. A wet towel appeared in Nick's hand and he wiped her face between bouts of retching. The others, including the deputies, surrounded Sara and the trash can.

"Are you okay, Sara?" Asked Greg, his eyes wide with astonishment. He could not remember a time when Sara had vomited at a crime scene much less turned green.

Catherine's hand ran up and down Sara's spine. "Get her a chair, Greg—stool or something." Sara heaved again but everything had left her stomach.

"Sorry—sorry," she mumbled. "Too much to eat—the smell." One of the deputies handed her a paper cup of water just as Greg arrived with a stool. "Sorry, don't know what caused that," she said as she sank onto the stool.

Everyone seemed to forget the exploded body and the reek of decomp as their attentions stayed on Sara and she tried to laugh, saying she was fine. Someone banged on the corridor doors and asked who wanted the blue jumpsuits.

"I'll get them," Catherine said once again taking charge. Returning with a stack of folded blue and white, she gave instructions. "Sorry, guys, girls get the first showers tonight. You are all smelly so help with the clean-up in there. Sara, can you make it to the shower?" She glanced at Greg. "Gil would kill me if I let you shower with his wife."

"I'm fine, really. I just threw up." Sara got to her feet, a little wobbly until Nick placed a hand on her elbow. She breathed deeply and followed Catherine to the shower room.

When the women disappeared, the men stood quietly for a moment before Greg whispered, "Sara threw up." All eyes met Greg's.

"Sara never throws up—never," said a deputy.

Nick grinned. "One time—years ago—and I promised not to tell."

"Well," Brass said, shaking off his jacket, "she threw up tonight and she's a married woman and she obviously spends time with her husband." All eyes shifted to Brass.

Greg's eyes grew wide and his mouth opened, closed, opened again before he said, "Is Sara…"

No one finished or answered his question amid the shoulder shrugs and grins. One opened the door of the holding room and none noticed the intensity of the stench as they entered. The assistant coroner passed out gloves and aprons and everyone pitched in, laughing and cracking jokes as they cleaned the dead guy from the walls and floor.

Catherine's concern for Sara continued in the shower room as she helped her undress, spraying the clothes with a special deodorizer, wrapping soiled clothes in plastic bags. "You sure you are going to be okay? I can call Gil, you can go home." She passed the deodorizer can behind the shower curtain. "Use this stuff—better than lemons for decomp. Costs enough to buy a grove of lemon trees but it works. Hold your breath and spray it everywhere—then rinse."

"I'm fine," Sara insisted. "Really—just ate a lot of food." She followed Catherine's directions and reached for a towel. As she stepped from the shower, Catherine held out a jumpsuit, her face revealing much more than normal concern. "I'm fine, Catherine. It's been a while since that smell hit me like that—well, I'm not sure I've every been hit by a blowing up body!"

The two women laughed as they thought about the mess in the holding room. Catherine grew serious when she asked, "Is it something else—do you suspect there is another reason?"

Realizing the meaning of her question, Sara quickly shook her head. "No—no, not that—I'm pretty sure that's not likely to happen. It was just the smell."

"Okay," Catherine said, but, as many women learned, she also knew the human body could pull a few surprises. She would not ask again as time would tell if her suspicions were founded in fact.

Sara pulled on the jumpsuit while Catherine showered in the small space, passing towels and dry clothing as Catherine had done for her. She could hear the men laughing in the hallway. This would be a story everyone would know by the end of shift, she thought.

Another hour passed, quietly, as everyone managed to redress in clothes kept in their lockers and return to the office; Brass disappeared. Greg said "He's gone to get another suit—you know Brass can't work without his suit." He and Nick chuckled.

The clocks inched toward midnight. Hundreds of thousands crowded the Strip, expecting a major fireworks display. Last year, major complaints had been heard because fireworks were launched from the ground and the show was much less than spectacular. This year, seven casinos had cooperated in a joint project to light up Las Vegas from their roof tops, room rates had been slashed, and tourists had returned to play, gamble, and celebrate the arrival of the New Year.

Pagers and telephones remained unnaturally quiet. Catherine checked metro and county call outs—driving under the influence was the major arrest of the night. She closed a file and placed it in a stack.

She cleared her throat. "As the supervisor in charge, I suggest a trip to the parking garage—perfect view of the Strip—and we have time to get some food up there, move Nick's truck so we can sit and watch the fireworks." Instantly, the three flipped files closed and reached for jackets.

At that moment, Grissom appeared at the door, grinning, loaded with several bags. "Happy New Year! I came to celebrate with my friends," he said dumping the sacks on the first desk he came to.

Catherine was the first to reach him throwing her arms around his neck. "Gil!" Nick and Greg shook his hand and their noise brought several others into the office. Sara stood alone while his former co-workers and old friends gathered, asking questions that were never answered, excited to see him, making statements about his looks; a few turned to Sara and winked or smiled, and everyone seemed to be genuinely happy to see him in the last hour of 2009.

Finally, the group made it to the top level of the parking garage. Grissom had brought good food—at least better than vending machine snacks—and a selection of drinks, all non-alcoholic, including some kind of bubbly grape juice.

"I got the last four bottles of this stuff," he bragged. "And the last plastic cups."

As Catherine and Sara spread food in the back of Nick's truck, Grissom heard the story of the erupting body. "That's what I smelled," he laughed, "Decomp!"

"No," the others insisted. "We used the expensive spray stuff—we don't smell of decomp, do we?" Sara said as she moved closer to Grissom.

His arms pulled her close; he nuzzled her neck and hair while the others watched. He made a muffled sound and wrapped both arms around Sara just as Jim Brass arrived. Nick, Greg, and Catherine glanced at each other as they watched Sara and Gil Grissom in an open display of affection that none had seen before tonight. They found it easy to smile.

"Hey, private party at the penthouse or can anyone join?" Brass said as he ambled over to sample the drinks doing a little lip curl as he lifted a look-like champagne bottle.

Within minutes, two dozen people were standing on the top deck, counting down the seconds to midnight. Everyone passed bottles and poured grape juice as the first explosion occurred along the Strip. The fireworks boomed and ricocheted and lit up the sky in an impressive display of extravagance. The casinos became dazzling silhouettes as brilliant colored rockets spiraled and fanned into the sky.

In little more than seven minutes, the largest fireworks display in the country played to over three hundred thousand people in Las Vegas, including the two dozen watching from the crime lab's parking deck. At its end, everyone applauded and spoke words of awe and amazement.

Catherine looked around missing Sara and Grissom. At her side, Brass said "They are over there."

The couple stood at the far end of the deck tightly locked in an embrace so close they appeared as one person.

Catherine grinned. "Happy New Year, Jim."

"You, too, Catherine." They clicked plastic glasses and drank the sparkling juice.

_A/N: Thank you to all who review! Now, get with it--all others! We want triple digit numbers before the final chapter! So hit "reply" and write a comment--one word will do! __And, this year in Las Vegas, no murders, no fatalities, no major crimes occurred on New Year's Eve and Day--24 hours with less than 400 arrests, most for DUI and fights. So our guys did have 'the night off'! The casinos did put on a combined fireworks show for 300,000 people on the strip--largest in the country._


	6. Chapter 6

**New Year's Eve 2010 Las Vegas**

**Chapter 6**

_New Year's Day 2010_

The first day of the year was remarkable for what did not happen in Las Vegas. There were no fatalities, no murders, no mysterious deaths, no robberies, and no calls for crime scene investigators from noon of the last day of the year until well past noon of the first day of the year. Everyone said it set a record.

Grissom stayed in the lab, told stories from Paris and Costa Rica, laughed easily as he was teased about getting married without so much as an announcement or forewarning of the event. He heard details of cases and crimes in Vegas—of cold cases solved and crimes of murders—planned and accidental, and he heard six versions of the exploding body in the morgue.

For breakfast, they ended up at Franks with the same questions asked and answers given. "Why do we come here?" "It's tradition." "It's cheap." "She knows what we want to eat." "We get the best table." "Is there a best table?"

They ate hot, fried food as multiple conversations were started, redirected, resumed, and over-talked. A word or a reference to some past event initiated another conversation across the table without ending a topic which was eventually brought back into discussion. A stranger observing the group would immediately know they were watching old friends.

As coffee cups were emptied for the final time, Grissom, who kept one hand touching Sara for the entire meal—an observation noticed by everyone at the table—mentioned one name that caused a hush in the clatter of voices.

"I'm going out to visit Warrick's grave," he said. And in silent agreement, the others followed as he drove to the Baptist church cemetery where their friend and colleague had been buried. In the early morning sunlight, the only sounds came from vehicle doors closing, the crunch of grass underfoot, and the calls of birds from the trees and scrubs surrounding the cemetery.

Nick, Greg, Sara, Grissom, Brass and Catherine stood in the graveyard around the marker and plot where they had buried Warrick Brown. A flock of crows disturbed the morning quietness as they flew across the sky and Greg and Sara were the only two who looked upward. Everyone in this group felt the absence and heartbreak of the loss of their friend; each knew the simple carved marker had been selected, the inscription chosen by Grissom—_An honest man is the noblest work of God_—was inscribed below the name and dates.

Someone sighed, deeply and with a recognizable resignation. Catherine realized it came from Grissom after he tightened his arm around Sara.

"It all seemed like a bad dream," she said. Several murmured agreement.

Sara tucked her head against Grissom's shoulder. When Catherine saw this, she realized it was the second time in a few hours she had seen this familiar intimacy between the two. She cleared her throat twice which got everyone's attention.

"Okay, Gil, give it up. Just how long have you and Sara been together—as in 'together' together?"

If she expected a quick response, she did not get it, but if her desire was to bring wit and lightness to their surroundings and dismiss their melancholic thoughts, it worked.

Nick gave her a look of unbelievable astonishment. Greg's mouth gapped open at least three times before he managed a smile. Brass looked at the sky, biting his lip in an effort to keep his laughter quiet. Sara's head lifted and she looked at Grissom as he stood still, an enigmatic look on his face for several moments.

Slowly, with a very deliberate motion, Grissom's hand moved to Sara's face. He brushed a long lock of hair behind her ear and grinned before kissing her lips. When he spoke, his words were soft but easily heard.

"I've loved this woman forever, Catherine. She was always in my mind, always my heart, and when I didn't think I could love her, she showed me how." He kissed Sara again then turned to Brass. "Jim, how long have we been together? I know you figured it out."

Brass' laughter swelled and flowed from his chest as a deep chuckle. He shook his head, "Not me, friend! Don't ask me to tell your secrets!" He turned to Catherine. "Come on, sweetheart, I'll drive you home. And I'll tell you all my secrets—everything!" He took her arm and headed to his car, shaking his head and chuckling.

Nick and Greg continued to stare, first at Grissom and Sara then at the retreating couple, confusion clouding their faces. Greg nudged Nick, whispering "Did he tell us? Do we know?" Nick shook his head as Sara reached for Greg's arm.

"Come on, you two. It's 2010—a new year for all of us." She laughed at their confusion. "I'll tell you this—I've loved Gil Grissom since I lived in San Francisco." She leaned toward Greg and kissed his cheek, reached for Nick and did the same. "And I love you both—I'm just not going to sleep with either of you—but I am going home, feed Hank and sleep with my husband—probably most of today, all night, and most of tomorrow—before I see you again!"

~~Grissom had another plan as they left the cemetery. "Let's drive out to Red Rocks before going home."

Sara agreed. She knew he loved the area introducing her to the colorful escarpment of cliffs and trails along grey, white, and red sandstone in the first weeks after her arrival in Las Vegas. This morning, they drove the scenic drive loop, stopping frequently to get out of the car and stand in the stillness of sand and rock and Joshua trees and yucca plants. When an unspoken signal passed between them, they walked back to their car, drove the fifteen minutes to their condo, and closed the door to the outside celebrations.

Grissom kept his promise of a bath, filling the tub as Sara walked Hank, putting her soiled clothing in the washer, and having a solitary laugh at descriptions of the exploding corpse. One of the reasons for buying this condo was its bathroom—just as the rented apartment in Paris, this one was spacious with a special tub and separate shower, both large enough to accommodate two. He heard her return as she talked to the dog and he added a handful of mineral bath salts to the water.

"You remembered!" She said as she stood in the doorway already stripping off the top layer of her clothing.

He grinned. "I remembered," helping her by pulling her top over her head. "Get in and I'll put Hank in the kitchen—I don't need his nose getting between us." They laughed at the rest of his sentence, "and the rest of him follows."

In a few minutes, Sara was in the tub and Grissom returned, half undressed by the time he stepped into the bathroom. They had been extravagant when selecting this tub—a grand shiny white over-flow oval large enough for two to stretch out or to sit face to face and enjoy the effervescence of new technology of gently caressing bubbles. No splashing whirlpool jets or semi-warm water had to be endured in this tub; heating coils imbedded in the tub kept water the right temperature and the bubbles were created by air. Their bathing experience was about relaxing and soothing and letting go of the outside world.

Grissom pointed to her feet and stepped into the tub as she bent her knees to provide space for him to sit. He then stretched out, placing his legs and feet on either side of hers as her feet snuggled against his groin. He grinned knowing this would not last long as he felt heat build between his legs.

"Woman, I'll never get enough of you."

Sara smiled as she did some trick with her feet.

"Catherine said you were sick—you threw up after the body explosion." He leaned against the tub, appearing to close his eyes yet keeping lids open enough to watch her.

"Yeah, I just threw up. The smell was horrendous—that and body fluids raining on us."

His foot massaged her hip. "Nothing else?"

"No—I would tell you, you know."

Grissom's eyes closed. "I keep up with your cycle."

"You shouldn't—that's obsessing."

He laughed.

"A baby would mess up our research plans."

"Sara—look at me." She opened her eyes. "A baby will add to our plans, not mess them up." He laughed again, a warm chuckle, and reached into the water to move her foot to his thigh. "If you don't stop doing that with your foot, I'm going to have to do something else!" His fingers kneaded her foot and calf. With a smile, he said, "A little Sara—I could get used to having two of you around."

Her giggle was loud, throaty, extremely sexy and provocative as she threw her head back with amusement. "Maybe we'll work on that." He brought her foot to his mouth and kissed her toe. She giggled again. "Of course, a little Gil would be nice." He grimaced and grunted, changing his position as he moved to her end of the tub on his knees.

"Pull the plug!" She cried and they both laughed. Once they had tried this with a full tub of water and nearly drowned in the midst of passion as both their heads slipped underwater.

"I've got a better idea—get out of the tub—finish your bath later. I need the bed to do what I want to do."

At times, a couple in love can act as mirror images, each taking a fair share, each embracing or being encumbered with certain responsibilities. At other times, one takes the burden of the relationship, shoulders more of the work, solves the problems, or balances the checkbook. Before Sara stepped out of the tub, she knew Grissom, who could be extremely agile, wanted to guide and direct what they were doing.

He wrapped a huge bath towel around her pressing her against his erection and smiling as he did so. Naked and wet, he pushed her in front of him to the bed where he toweled her dry and used the same towel to dry himself standing beside the bed fully aroused. The sight of her husband, so totally male and proud of it, rendered Sara nearly speechless except for her soft laugh.

The towel dropped to the floor as he lowered himself alongside her. His hand found her thigh, his mouth found her lips, and before she could think other thoughts, he was touching her in the most intimate way, setting off a delightful aching sensation that traveled her spine to her toes and to her brain.

He mumbled against her mouth, "You are warm and wet and soft." He rolled on top of her, separating her thighs with a tantalizing pressure of a knee and a probing erection at the damp entrance of her body. Gently, with effortless ease, he pushed steadily, filling her as water in a cup. For several seconds, he paused in his movements, caught her head between his palms and kissed her, deeply, passionately, with a fervor that left no doubt of feelings.

He moved within her, slowly, using exquisite control, building a sweet tension in Sara and pushing his control to the edge. Sara felt the muscles of his back beneath her palms as she clutched him closer, felt his tongue exploring her mouth, a hand had moved to her backside, the other held her head as he cradled and rocked.

Sara's body responded and she began to breathe more quickly. Her hips lifted against him and she felt the internal waves of her climax rising and her body tensed—her last conscious thought as a thunderous release hit her was how much she loved him. A moment later, he exploded as pleasure and passion surged throughout his body.

_Epilogue: a short chapter to conclude the fate of these two characters—tomorrow! Review, please! _


	7. Chapter 7

**New Year's Eve 2010 Las Vegas**

**Chapter 7**

_Epilogue: A Year Later_

New Year's Eve had been extremely quiet with several friends dropping in for quick visits, a few telephone calls from others, a shared meal and celebration of life with selected friends, but today, the first day of a new year, Gil sat at his desk working on his insect displays which had been sorely neglected for over a year. He had just practiced a brief lecture on the swarming process of certain insects when he leaned back in his chair, removed his glasses, and studied his small audience.

"Ask questions, make notes. Consider what is expected and arrive at the unexpected. Is that clear?" His mouth formed a quick smile, his chair squeaking as he leaned forward.

The twins gurgled at him from their joint bed. His male child, Louis, watched him closely, obviously fascinated with his lecture and the insects. The tiny girl beside him, named Laurel, appeared more interested in her soft toy, but Gil knew she was absorbing every detail. Like her mother, she was quite capable of doing two or three things at once.

He smiled at both of them, knowing he was the father of the most intelligent, most beautiful children in the world, and except for the cleft in their chins, their smiles, the color of their eyes and wavy dark hair came from their mother. Outside, warm sunshine poured into the room; the air was clear and fresh and smelled faintly of flowers.

Sara, dressed in a bright blue shirt and jeans, strolled into the room. She was holding a book in one hand, her cell phone in the other. "What are you teaching them today?"

"Swarming. Louis is definitely interested. Laurel is more like her mother." He got to his feet and kissed her, eyeing the phone. "Nick?"

Nick had been the only one of the old team who had not been to their early New Year's Eve dinner—he was in Texas—but he had participated in their dinner conversation by phone. She gave a brilliant smile, one that always warmed places deep inside him, and leaned over the crib to play with the infants.

"Let's go for a walk—Hank will love it and the fresh air and exercise will be good for all of us," she said.

Grissom nodded, smiling at his wife as she cooed and played with their babies. Motherhood agreed with her—he had known it would. He had married late and right, he thought. Everything in his world thrived because of her. Very gently, he placed his hand at her waist and turned her to face him.

"You know, loving you makes me the happiest man in the world."

"Oh, Gil," she whispered, her heart filled with pleasure and joy, as she slipped an arm around his neck and placed a warm hand on his face. "I told you years ago you would make an excellent husband and father to my children."

He would have laughed, but found it difficult to do so with her lips on his.

The End--_A/N: Happy New Year Everyone! Let's hope we see the same for the Grissoms! Thanks for all the reviews--we do appreciate your responses!_

_ We have a work-in-progress for the "A Few Days" series--watch for it!_


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